


Seven Times

by kerri240879



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerri240879/pseuds/kerri240879
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven times can mean a lifetime of change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Seven Times](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319928) by [Rzan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rzan/pseuds/Rzan)



Title: Seven times.

Author: Kerri

Characters: Draco/Hermione

Rating: Mature all the way.

Warnings; Character death, mentions of rape, torture, and the repercussions of war. This is fairly dark and angsty - you've been warned.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I’m just using them for my own perverted sense of fun.

Feed back: Sure.

Summary: Seven times can mean a lifetime of change.

Authors note; I wrote this for my best mate, Natalie, after she participated in an authors auction, that was raising money for Pooh, and her treatment for Cancer. Natalie and I have been friends through several fandoms, and our lives spilled over from the realm of fantasy and became reality when we exchanged phone numbers just over six years ago.

Nat - seven chapters, for almost seven wonderful years of friendship. You are my strength, my muse, and the voice of reassurance when life becomes too heavy to walk alone. For that alone, a story cannot repay you for all that you do for me, but you know that I love you, and I always will. My southern belle - a lady for all time. I hope that this was worth the wait. xx

Part 1.

The first time Draco Malfoy willingly touched Hermione Granger occurred after his twisted aunt had tortured her. He had stood silently as Harry and Ron were dragged from the room, with Ron’s pleas for them to take him instead ringing in his ears. Dear Aunt Bellatrix lifted her wand, her favourite curse screamed out with the full loathing she felt for all Muggles and Muggle-borns alike. The curse echoed off the ceiling, causing the crystal chandelier to sway dangerously.

“Crucio!”

Hermione fell to her knees, and then her side as she curled into herself. Her screams were filled with agony and terror alike, the sound scraping down his spine like fingernails. Her hair, those matted, dirty curls, was strewn across her face as she moaned, her voice stolen by pain until all that remained were whimpers. And when his aunt skipped across the room and released her from the curse, Bellatrix kicked her violently in the stomach, the blow flipping the helpless girl onto her back.

Seven times his aunt screamed out the curse. Seven times Hermione’s screams bounced off the ceiling. And seven times Draco’s stomach heaved violently. This wasn’t some unknown Muggle. This was a girl, he had known for seven years. And with each curse that rang out, with each scream that echoed, the coil within Draco’s body wound tighter. Amidst the terror and pain, all he could think in the end was, wasn’t seven meant to be a lucky number?

As Hermione lay there gasping, while his aunt laughed maniacally, a single drop of blood slid from between Hermione’s white lips, and rolled down her face. Down her face, down her throat, where it soaked into her hair. Draco’s gaze was riveted to that single scarlet drop. Scarlet red, just like his. Not muddy brown, not dirty like the filth she was. But a brilliant scarlet red. And as it soaked into her hair, something inside Draco Malfoy snapped.

He was barely aware of lifting his wand. Barely aware of pointing it at his aunt. Barely aware of his father’s alarmed shout. But the Killing Curse that rang out so coldly echoed as her laughter had, the sickly green light filling the room and causing him to wince at the brightness of it. And when he opened his eyes again, his aunt was laying on the floor, her face frozen in death, and those crazy eyes tainted green.

Within his mind, he was crying out in shock and horror. Alarmed at what he had done, alarmed at what would happen next. And as his wand arm remained steady, he moved the tip from where his aunt had once stood, and pointed it at his father as Lucius took a step towards him. Lucius froze, his hands rising slowly as he stared at Draco, his voice calm when he spoke.

“Draco. What are you doing?” he asked, and Draco’s voice cracked as a sob caused his voice to hitch.

“What are you doing, Father?”

Lucius gestured towards Bellatrix’s body as Draco took a step to the left, and tilted his head slightly.

“Our Lord will not be pleased with you, Draco,” he said slowly, and Draco gave a hysterical bark of laughter.

“Really? I don’t think he’s been pleased with us since you so royally stuffed up the last mission he gave you. You know the one I mean, Father? The one you stuffed up, giving him a reason to punish you by using me! The one where he chose me to murder a bumbling, old man, knowing that I’d fail. And what did you do? You kissed his scaly arse, and let him do it!”

Lucius took a step towards Draco in alarm, only to freeze when Draco’s hand trembled as he took several more steps towards Hermione.

“Her blood is red, Father. Just like mine,” he whispered, as shame coloured his cheeks when his voice broke. “You told me her blood was muddy. A filthy, dirty Mudblood. Beneath me. But her blood is red, Father. She beat me in every class. No matter how hard I tried, she topped me every time. So I’m wondering… how does that make her inferior?”

Lucius stared down at Hermione silently. At her pale skin and lips that were tinged blue as she lay so silently. And when he looked back at his son, Draco was dragging his free arm across his eyes. Eighteen years old - a man. And when Draco sniffed, Lucius saw the little boy who had jumped up and down on unsteady feet and clapped wildly as he watched his father fly low to the ground on a broom.

“Draco,” he began, only to have Draco straighten up slowly, as his face darkened with rage.

“Her blood, Father, is red. Red, red, red!!” he screamed. And just as suddenly, the rage fled, leaving his voice to break. “Would you let him spill my blood?” Draco whispered as he tugged at his hair, and Lucius jerked back in shock.

“How can you ask that?” he breathed, and Draco giggled.

“How can I not?” he retorted, and glancing down at Hermione, he took a steadying breath. When he looked back up, the little boy had fled, and a man stood in his place as he lifted eyes that had gone flat and cold.

“A Malfoy always wins, Father, you taught me that. No matter the cost… a Malfoy always wins. Petrificus Totalus!”

Lucius had time to grunt once, before his body slammed painfully to the ground because of the spell Draco had called out with desperation ringing in his voice. Lying there, he could only watch as his son sank to his knees, before scrambling across the floor towards Hermione on his hands and knees. Another giggle escaped his lips as he reached out, his hand shaking and showing his fear as he hesitantly touched her face. And when a strangled sob tore free of his throat, Lucius felt the echoing snap of something inside himself that his son had felt only moments ago.

“Granger…”

Draco rolled Hermione onto her back, and none too gently slapped her face.

“Wake up, you silly bint. We’ve got to go… got to go away where we can’t be found. Wake up!”

Sitting back, Draco plucked nervously at her sleeve as his eyes darted back and forth. He giggled again, and pushed at the tumble of pale hair that hung in his eyes as his sanity calmly packed its bags and took a holiday. Too much guilt, death, and torture, and the snap in Draco became a crack. And when he leaned back over Hermione, he touched her carefully and whispered her name amidst a litany of pleas to ‘...please wake up now, the snake is coming, please help me, what do I do? What do I do?’

When Hermione remained silent, Draco slid his arms under her knees and neck. He grunted as he lifted her into his arms and rose to his feet, where he shifted her slightly to gain more leverage. Hermione’s head lolled against his shoulder, as her arms hung uselessly down Draco’s legs. Looking down at her, Draco swallowed once before turning towards the hallway that led to the dungeons. His footsteps were slow, fear radiating out of every pore. Just before he walked through the doorway, Draco paused, his voice carrying despite how soft and broken it was.

“I’m not what you wanted, a failure, not good enough, not fast enough, 'Why are you constantly letting me down, Draco?', I’m sorry, Father...”

And then he was gone. And when Lucius felt the wards of the Manor shimmer violently ten minutes later, Lucius knew the guests of the dungeons were gone, as was his son. Trapped within the full effects of the body-binding curse, Lucius could only lie there as Draco’s final words echoed in his mind. It would be the last time he saw his son for two years, and when he did lay eyes on Draco again, his son had become a stranger.

After lifting Hermione’s limp form into his arms, Draco stumbled down to the dungeons, where things happened very quickly. After unlocking the cages that contained Harry and Ron, Harry very carefully asked Draco to give Hermione to him. Draco hitched her further into his arms, and loudly sniffed back the snot that threatened to escape his nose.

“Can’t. She’s not pure… her blood isn’t pure but it’s red and it’s pretty, and the wards on the manor will kill her if she’s not with me when we leave. And we’ve got to leave, Potter, we’ve got to leave before he finds out what I’ve done and lets that horrible snake eat me like it did Charity Burbage! So we’ve got to go, and we’ve got to run, and we’ve got to do it now, now before it slithers up from the bowels of hell and tries to eat us, run!”

His voice broke on a scream, and Harry stumbled back a few steps as he nodded rapidly. In the end, Harry ended up supporting Dean Thomas and Ron carried Luna Lovegood. The portraits of Draco’s ancestors screamed at them as they hurried down the hall. Screamed that Draco was a blood traitor, blood traitor, betraying his blood lines for the very filth he carried. Harry wondered at that, and as they scurried past the room Hermione had been in, he saw exactly what they meant.

But there was no time to think about it - as a group, they ran across the lawns, and as they passed through the wards, another low scream of pain was wrenched from Hermione. Draco hitched her further up in his arms, his head lowering as they continued to run down the road that led to a safe Apparition point.

“Hurts, burns, I can’t help that, water will help, and rest and food, and be a good girl. Shhh, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t want to die, you die, I die, and I’ve seen enough, I‘m so fucking tired! So please, please, shut up now, Granger, or I‘m going to die, and you are too, and I don‘t want to die, do you?”

Harry would later wonder how Draco managed to Apparate to Grimmauld Place without Splinching himself, but manage it, he did. And once inside, once Draco had carefully laid Hermione on the couch, all hell broke loose. Seven years of hatred, seven years of animosity, and Ron Weasley did not hold back as he went after his enemy with his fists. And when Draco woke up after the beating of a life time, he was locked in the cellar, and alone in the dark.

Faced with Hermione’s injuries, Luna’s injuries and a dozen questions from different Order members, Harry and Ron forgot about Draco Malfoy for four nights and three days. And when they did finally remember, it was because Hermione asked where he was. The pinched look of disapproval she sent both boys had them shuffling their feet, and following her down the stairs as they whispered apologies. Those apologies died when they saw him, and they lowered their eyes against the look they knew would grace Hermione’s face.

He was huddled in the corner, wearing nothing but his pants, and with only the drip of water and the voices in his head keeping him company. His face was haggard, bruised and covered in dried blood. His hair was mattered down with dirt and sweat. Huddled in the corner, he was staring blindly across the room, and scrapping his nails up and down the wall. And as he scratched at the wall, he whispered the compounds of different potions repeatedly, his voice hoarse from screaming and lack of fluid.

When Hermione said his name, he squeezed his eyes shut, and continued to whisper. When she took a step towards him, Harry and Ron’s warnings died unuttered at the sharp look she sent them. Another step, followed by more, and still he muttered as she sank down to her knees before him. Reaching out slowly, she touched his arm, and Draco fell silent as she whispered his name again.

She would later think that she should have listened to Harry and Ron, but quicker than she could blink his arm shot and he jerked her off balance. Sweat, fear, and vomit were all she could smell, and then she cried out as Draco jerked her closer again. So close, that their noses bumped, and his breath made her gag as it washed over her face.

“Can you hear it?” he whispered, and then giggled as he tapped his free hand against the wall.

His eyes were bright with fever, his skin burning under her hands where they were braced against his shoulders. A sharp yank of her hair had Hermione crying out, and Draco giggled again as he repeated his question.

“Hear what, Malfoy?” Hermione hissed, and Draco rested his head against the wall and rubbed his cheek across the rough wood.

“The whispering… they’re telling me that He… Voldemort, say his name and fear him not, because his strength is in his name, Voldemort is sending word that he wants me on my knees in front of him. That he’s going to take his time, as punishment for killing Aunt Bellatrix. He’s going to kill me, because I helped you. I didn’t want to… I didn’t mean to, but your blood is red like mine, and that makes us the same, doesn’t it? Why can’t they see that? Why didn’t I see that? Why can’t they see?”

His hand rose, fingers like claws, and he scraped his nails down her cheek. Hard. Hermione cried out in pain as blood welled to the surface of her skin, and then whimpered when he tangled her hair in his hand and yanked her head backwards. A warning snarl echoed from between his bared teeth when Ron stepped forward with Harry, followed by a soft giggle as Draco ran his fingers through Hermione’s blood and smeared it across her face.

“See, it’s red, you see. Red like mine, just like mine, look at it, red with magic and cells and that wonderful warmth.”

She shuddered when she felt the tip of his tongue touch her cheek, and then another giggle sobbed out of him.

“Tastes like mine, so it is like mine, and why can’t I stop? Stop, halt, means the same but not the same… Where am I? I’m lost again, and I want to be found and I’m so sick and tired, and… and… Granger.”

His bones shifted under her hands as he pulled her closer, and Hermione tilted her head back as his head slumped forward to rest on her shoulder. She felt his arms twitch, and then slide around her, his hand fisting in her hair and the back of her shirt as he began to shake. Biting her lip against the burning pain in her cheek, Hermione slipped her arms around him, and patted his back gently.

Holding him close, she felt his arms tighten around her as he continued to shudder. She heard the sob he bit back, and Harry’s soft mutter for Ron to get some food heated up. And when Draco’s shaking began to get worse, she called out to Harry. Between the two of them, they managed to get him up the stairs. Managed to get him up another two flights of them, and into the bathroom.

Once in there, Harry firmly closed the door in Hermione’s face, and set about stripping Draco out of his clothes. They would never speak about what happened in the bathroom - when Harry held Draco up under the water, and scrubbed his body clean. Sat him in the base of the tub and scrubbed his hair clean. Helped him use a Muggle tooth-brush for the first time, and then simply held him as Draco bawled his eyes out.

Harry smoothed his hair back, and ran his hands over Draco’s back and shoulders, as Draco spluttered out apologies between sobs. Seven years of hatred, seven years of animosity, seven years of not understanding, and those years washed down the drain as Harry sat fully clothed in the bath, and held the sobbing boy in his arms. And when Draco fisted his hand in Harry’s hair, Harry let him press cracked lips against his own.

It wasn’t a sexual gesture, more of an, 'I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m scared shitless, please help me’ type gesture. Harry could feel Draco’s chin trembling against his own, and he kept his hands gentle as he cupped Draco’s face. Draco’s sobs were muffled against his mouth, and when Draco’s head dropped in sheer exhaustion to Harry’s shoulder, Harry tightened his grip.

The soft tap on the bathroom door announced Ron, and between the two of them, they managed to get Draco out the tub, dried, and into warm tracksuit pants and a ratty tee-shirt that was three times too big. Between them, they lugged him up the stairs, and into a spare bed. And when Harry went to stand up, Draco fisted his hand in Harry’s shirt and wouldn’t let him go.

So Harry sat behind him, and held him as shudders wracked Draco‘s frame. Held him, and watched as Ron sat down beside them. Hermione brought up simple soup a few moments later, and Harry felt pride and love for his friends, when Ron took the bowl and lifted the first spoonful to Draco’s mouth. It took ten silent minutes for Draco to eat the soup, and when he was finished, he simply curled into Harry and closed his eyes, his fingers pleating the material that was stretched across Harry‘s ribs as his body continued to shake.

When he woke in the dark again, Draco thought for a moment, that he had simply dreamed it. That is, until he felt the warmth of Ron’s body stretched out behind him. He knew it was Ron, simply because the body he was curled up against smelled like Harry had smelled in the bathroom. Several arms were locked around him, and a heart beat steadily under his ear. And in the dark, holding on and being held in return, Draco felt safe for the first time in years.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2.

The second time Draco Malfoy knowingly touched Hermione Granger was nearly four months later. It took him that long to regain that precious piece of sanity Hermione’s screams had driven away. And during those four months, things went from bad to worse in the wizarding world. The day Draco Malfoy regained his mind was the day he won the fight against the ghosts of his past.

Four months in which Draco lay almost catatonic. Harry bathed him, Ron fed him, and Hermione watched over him. If anyone else approached him, he ended up a blithering mess, so the trio became a foursome out of necessity. They mostly slept in the same bed, holding and being held, as Draco muttered Potion compounds and Quidditch strategies. He scratched those formulas out on the floor, wrote them on the walls, and tugged at his hair fretfully if the strict schedule the others kept wasn’t as it should be.

Ron was the one who worked that out, when he was an hour late taking Draco’s lunch up to him one afternoon a month after Draco had joined them. He found Draco sitting in the corner, his face blank and his fingernails dug into the warn carpet as he rocked. And when Ron had sat beside him and asked how he was, Draco had broken down again, Ron finding himself with an armful of sobbing Draco Malfoy a moment later.

Ron felt then the true horror of what had driven Draco to this point in his life, and he felt the full shameful slam of guilt as a litany of pleas fell from bite-swollen lips. ‘Please, don‘t leave, don’t leave me in the dark again, I’ll be good, I’ll beat Granger at Potions, I’ll beat Potter to the snitch, just, please don’t leave me again, please, please, please.’

As he cradled Draco in his arms, Ron thought back to the burned-down Burrow, and the sheer love that had coated the walls like paint; the love that had shaped his life. He’d never been locked in his room and left to go hungry. Never been beaten because he wasn’t the best at something. And as sobs turned into hiccups, Ron thought back to the day Draco had turned his back on his family and had broken them all out of Malfoy Manor. Of what he had personally done, and Ron learned what shame tasted like when he remembered that he had thrown Draco down the stairs into the cellar and had shut and locked the door.

One could reason that he had been frantic with worry over Hermione. However one could also remind oneself, that he’d done it out of sheer hatred. He’d been willing to let him go hungry, to leave him in the dark, because he hadn’t known. Hadn’t known that it was Lucius Malfoy’s favourite way to punish his child, in a way no child should be punished. After Draco’s tears had dried, Ron fed him and helped him back into bed. And as he tucked him in, Ron bent close to his ear and spoke as softly as he could, while pure emotion was choking him.

“You were nothing but a prat at school. You were everything I wasn’t - rich, spoiled, and pampered. I envied your book smarts, and I envied your Quidditch abilities. But now? I wish I could kill your father for what he’s done. The newest broom or the best dragon-hide boots don’t make up for abuse. I may have been poor, but I was loved, and I knew it.

“You were offered up as a sacrifice by the one man who should have protected you. You were shown things that you should never have had to witness. You poor sod, they broke you. Even so, if you can hear me, I want you to remember something. You are better than your father, because you made a choice. Remember that, and make it the reason you beat him... Draco.”

And when Draco woke up several hours later for dinner, he did remember it. And slowly, slowly, because these things take time, he began to reassemble his fractured mind. He made an effort to not mutter madly, and to try and talk normally when his caregivers were around. And the first day he opened his eyes and could clearly see, he opened his eyes and found Harry staring down at him. Not sure how to act, or what to say, Draco simply said what he should have said all those years ago.

“Hullo.”

Green eyes crinkled at the croaked greeting, and Harry gave him a small grin.

“Hullo. Feel like a spot of breakfast in the kitchen?”

Harry asked Draco that same question for another two weeks, only to have Draco shake his head and close his eyes. Harry let him, until the morning he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he dragged Draco out of bed and down the stairs. Left with no choice, Draco simply followed, and when he walked into a kitchen full of Weasleys, Harry simply took his hand when he balked, and led him to the table.

“Molly makes the best breakfast ever,” Harry said as he pushed Draco down onto a seat, and Molly flushed.

“Tsk, be that as it may, Harry, such compliments will not get you another serving of sausage and egg!”

Before he knew what was happening, Draco was surrounded by Weasleys, and Molly was setting a platter of food down in front of him, and urging him to eat up, to put some meat back on his bones. He ate silently, cool grey eyes watching thoughtfully for the next week as the Weasleys ate and chatted and laughed together. They included Harry in their conversations easily, yet there was a coolness directed at Hermione by Molly, something that stood out amongst all the warmth.

When breakfast was finished, Hermione stood up began to clear the table as the others left the kitchen and headed off to do whatever it was they were doing. Molly lingered, her eyes wary as she watched Draco carefully cut a piece of sausage up, before chewing it slowly. While she fed him, she didn’t trust him, and when Draco lifted cool eyes, Molly flinched at the slight mockery she saw there.

“A word, Hermione?” Molly murmured, and Draco watched in interest as Hermione’s shoulders stiffened.

“Now is neither the time nor the place, Mrs. Weasley,” she murmured, and Molly sighed before leaving the room.

Draco finished his breakfast silently as Hermione washed the dishes. It was on his mind to simply leave the plate at the table for her to get, but an image of her curled up on the parlour floor in his old home flashed through his mind. So he stood, and carried his plate to the sink silently. And when Hermione held her hand out for it, Draco could only stare at her. At the first up close look at the four light scars that ran down across her jaw, and Hermione flinched as she looked away.

“What did that?” he asked, and Hermione looked back up at him in surprise.

“You did,” she said after a moment, and it was Draco’s turn to flinch.

“When?” he muttered, and Hermione dropped his plate into the sink with a clatter.

“When you went crazy,” she said flatly.

Draco looked away, and bit his lip before trying again.

“How long have I been here?” he asked, and Hermione lowered her head.

“Four months. Do you remember anything?”

Draco looked away then, and the silence between them turned heavy. Hermione finally turned back to face him, her eyes level and her voice direct.

“Your Aunt tortured me in your family’s parlour. Do you remember that?”

Draco nodded with a jerk of his head, and Hermione smiled coolly.

“Do you remember how much pain I was in? Do you remember standing there and watching it happen?”

Draco turned to leave, only to stop when Hermione grabbed his arm tightly.

“In case you don’t remember, you saved my life,” she hissed, digging her nails into his skin. “You used the Killing Curse on Bellatrix. You carried me out of there, and you lost your mind. When I woke up, you were already crazy. You did this,” she whispered, touching the scars that covered her jaw. “You scratched me as hard as you could, and then you told me that my blood was just like yours. I owe you my life, you prat, and I don't know what I hate more - owing you like that, or you in general. Now leave me alone,” she hissed, and turned back to the dishes.

She squealed a moment later when he tangled his hand in her hair and jerked her head backwards. Towering over her, he glared down at her, as her eyes glittered with anger back at him. Lifting his hand, he traced the scratches with his fingers, and then smirked slightly.

“Seems we’re now even for third year, Granger. And I’m not crazy anymore... not really. I'm not blind, either, to what is happening around me. Not blind to the fact that Molly Weasley is trying to guilt you into wanting her son, when it is as clear as day that you don‘t. No, don’t!” he warned, when she tried to jerk away from him.

“You’ll listen… I’m not blind to the fact that he doesn‘t want you like that either, but you are the one being punished for it. Not blind to the fact that it would never have worked between you, when even back at school everyone could see it. What I am blind to, is why you give a shit. Why you‘re letting her make you feel guilty, when you have nothing to be guilty for.”

Hermione looked up at him as she best she could, and sneered slightly.

“Because she feels love for her child, Malfoy, an emotion I’m sure you’re lacking.”

It became Draco’s turn to jerk, and Hermione bit her lip in shame as shock stole what little colour his face held. But before she could apologise, Draco let go of her abruptly and moved towards the door. He paused before he left the room, and spoke without looking at her.

“Seven times. I remember that you screamed seven times. I should have only heard you scream once, but you screamed seven times. A life for a life. Life debts. You're right; in wizarding law, you owe me.”

Draco looked back at her then, and swallowed before looking away again.

“Consider us even,” he whispered.

Then he was gone, and Hermione was left to turn eyes blinded by tears back to the sink. His words had shaken her, but more so, his observations. She washed the remainder of the dishes in silence, and when she turned around, Ron was standing in the doorway, hesitant to enter, yet unable to turn away. Upon seeing the tears on her cheeks, he sighed heavily, and lowered his eyes.

“Mum been at you again?” he asked awkwardly, and Hermione shook her head.

“Yes… no, it was something Malfoy said,” she mumbled, and Ron sighed again.

“You want to know what always bugged me about the little ferret?” Ron asked, and when Hermione nodded, Ron smiled wryly.

“He always excelled in telling the truth. Why lie, when the truth hurts more?”

Hermione jerked, and Ron nodded slowly when Hermione lifted her eyes to his.

“Maybe he should have a chat with Mum, hmm?” Ron asked, and when Hermione started laughing, any remaining embarrassment between them vanished.

Linking arms, they set out to find Molly, and to lay the future she so desperately wanted for them, to rest.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3.

The third time Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger, was after the war suddenly became reality. Aurors and students alike turned up, and the Death Eaters took the war to the streets of Wizarding London. Safe houses were found and secured, makeshift hospitals set up in each. And by the end of the first week, fifteen people from the good side lay dead.

Sleep became a luxury, and having time to relax in front of the wizarding wireless at the end of the night was forgotten as strategy sessions held in cramped kitchens became normality. Sleeping two, sometimes three, to a bed was considered normal as time stretched on, and more and more people joined the fight.

The unfamiliar became familiar, as did grief, worry and fear, that stunning fragrance that now tainted the air. Faces showed the change that war bought, as cheeks hollowed, eyes became shadowed, and bodies became muscular and lean. And at the head of it all, Draco slipped seamlessly into kinship with Harry and Ron, to the point that the three of them huddled over empty tea cups also became normal. No more house lines, especially when Gregory Goyle and Blaise Zabini showed up, carrying a dead Pansy Parkinson.

Her face showed the strain of torture, the centre of her eyes glowing green as Blaise held a whispered conference with Harry, Ron, and Draco. And in that moment, as Gregory silently wept while cradling Pansy’s body, the whole house saw the final change in Draco Malfoy. They saw the hatred that straightened his spine, and the grief he swallowed as his eyes lingered on Pansy’s broken body. Between the five boys, they buried Pansy, and with her, they buried the last of any lingering animosity.

Draco threw himself into planning and strategy after that, with a fierceness that was shocking to witness. Harry would later tell Hermione, while huddled under blankets in the middle of the night, that Voldemort had let his Death Eaters rape and torture Pansy as revenge for Draco killing Bellatrix. Pansy, his occasional girlfriend, but first and always, his childhood friend, had died screaming.

Blaise and Gregory had been forced to watch, witnesses to the brutality of Voldemort‘s revenge and Draco‘s punishment. Afterwards, they had been released from the bonds that had held them, and had been told to find the younger Malfoy. They had gathered Pansy’s broken body up and bought her to Draco, just as Voldemort had wanted. And as he buried her, Draco’s mind was set on winning the war and extracting revenge for the horrors his friends had been forced to endure. And that attitude, was something Voldemort hadn’t counted on.

Strategies that were planned by Draco and then carried out were short, sharp and violent. No more trying to disarm Death Eaters, he explained in a flat voice. You kill them before they kill you, especially if you are female. What good would you be, if the Death Eater got you on your back? It was cold and brutal, but his explanations made sense, especially after Cho Chang was raped, then left for dead.

She was found by Gregory Goyle, and when Cho fought against him trying to help her, he knocked her out the only way he knew how - he broke her jaw when his meaty fist collided with it, and for him, that was worse than anything else. It would take Cho kissing those meaty knuckles for him to forgive himself, a surprisingly gentle friendship springing up between them that would last the remainder of the war, and all the days after.

Two weeks later, when Cho started letting people into her room, Hermione crept down the corridor, with a burning need to help the girl in any way she could. A few steps from Cho's door, however, she heard a soft sob and the slow creak of bed springs. Gentle sounds of reassurance were murmured as the creaking stopped, only to start up a few minutes later when silence had fallen.

A soft feminine moan echoed one long moment later, and the deeper male groan that answered it sounded deafeningly loud in the quietness of the night as the creak of bed springs quickened slightly. Hermione blushed and stepped forward, only to have a hand cover her mouth and a familiar cool voice whisper in her ear as an arm banded tightly around her waist.

“Shhh…”

She was pulled away from the door slowly, and then let go. Spinning around, Hermione glared up at Draco angrily, and pointed towards Cho’s door for an explanation. He gestured for her to follow him, and once in the kitchen, under the harsh light there, he gave her a brutally honest one. Cho was learning that sex didn’t have to mean violence. That not all men would rape her. That she was still desirable, despite what had happened to her.

“Why aren’t you the one showing her then, if you think you know what she needs?” Hermione spat, and Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Because she doesn’t need a reminder of what had happened, Granger, she needs to be shown she can move past it,” he said coldly, and Hermione’s mouth snapped shut.

“What do you mean?” she asked a moment later, and Draco laughed bitterly.

“I look like my father, Granger.”

When Hermione’s eyebrows drew together, Draco snorted in disbelief.

“Blaise and I are as different looking as you can get. She won’t see her rapist when she looks up at him. She’ll see Blaise.”

Hermione paled as Draco looked away and crossed his arms, and she fought to think of a way to take back the animosity her voice had shown. But then his eyes snapped back to hers, and the anger in his voice made the animosity she had shown pale in comparison.

“You really are fucking innocent in the ways of the world, aren’t you?" he snarled. "Females are raped, Granger, or taken as spoils of war. Shared. The more unwilling, the more they are used. Tell me, what would you do?” he bit out, and Hermione took several steps backwards at the violence in his eyes.

“Do?” she whispered, and then bit back a scream when he moved towards her so quickly that she didn’t have time to avoid him.

His hand closed around her throat, and the table bit into her back when he turned her and shoved her backwards. She felt his feet kick at her ankles, kicking them apart and holding them there when he stepped between her feet. The pressure on her throat grew as he forced her back to bend over the table, and her head rapped painfully on the wooden surface when the two collided with an audible thud.

Even as she twisted, even as she raised her hands to punch out at him, he let her throat go, and caught both hands. Dragged them together and wrenched them above her head, one large hand holding both slender wrists easily as he loomed above her. A thin cry escaped her as he wrapped his free hand around a slender thigh, and jerked her hips upwards, her pelvis knocked by his in a crude gesture of strength.

Holding her down, pinning her in place, Draco lowered his head as he rested his groin so intimately against hers. She whimpered when the bones in her wrist's ground together under his grip, and turned her face away when he let go of her thigh and ghosted his hand down over her chest. When he finally spoke, it was coldly as her frightened breathing shuddered out in audible gasps.

“What do you do, Granger, when in this position? Hmm? What are you going to do? Nothing… there is nothing you can do. I’m bigger than you, stronger than you, and if I wanted to rape you, there would be nothing you could do to stop me. You could scream,” he continued with a twisted sneer of his mouth, “but who's going to hear you over the streams of magic, and the cursing, and the sounds of war?”

Hermione shook her head as she fought back tears, and Draco bit back an oath when he finally loosened his grip on her and stepped back. Straightening up slowly, Hermione watched as he ran an agitated hand through his hair, and stared up at the ceiling as if he could see into Cho‘s room.

“That’s what Cho learned, Granger. Now she’s learning something else, something that will give her strength, rather than leave her curled up and feeling like a victim. She’s learning that the hands touching her now don’t mean to bring her pain or humiliation. Only pleasure. That the body resting over hers isn’t there because of brute strength, but because he asked to be, and she agreed.”

Looking back at Hermione, Draco smiled bitterly.

“She is learning that not all who come from Slytherin mean her harm. And if she’s as smart as she’s meant to be, having been a Ravenclaw and all, she’ll learn that Blaise, although fighting with the rest of us, abhors violence more than anyone I know, especially when it comes to women. That he’ll want nothing in return, unless she asks for it.”

“He’s getting a free shag, isn’t he?” Hermione hissed, and Draco laughed bitterly.

“Blaise has known Cho for years, and the first time he shags her, she cries for the first half of it. You think he’s enjoying that, Granger? Fucking her while she cries?” he asked crudely.

Hermione caught on to only one part of his statement, and she lifted an eyebrow slightly.

“Years? Are you telling me he’s liked her that whole time, Malfoy?”

“Why not?” he asked smoothly. “She’s pretty enough. She’s not some simpering Hufflepuff, who is only interested in him for his looks and money.”

“Is that all that matters?” Hermione asked. “That’s she’s pretty enough?”

Draco snickered and looked at her pointedly.

“I keep forgetting that you’re a virgin under all the bluster and heat you have,” he said, and snickered again as she blushed furiously, and spluttered in indignation.

“To some, things like that matter. But at the end of the day, Granger, a shag's a shag when you’re horny enough. Chin up… maybe someone will take pity on you one day, and you’ll find out what all the fuss is about,” he said, as he turned to leave the room.

“Because I’m nothing but a Mudblood right?” she spat, and Draco paused where he was and looked back at her.

“I never said that,” he said quietly. “I was thinking more along the lines that if you pulled that stick out of your arse, a bloke might feel comfortable approaching you, without wondering if he was going to get splinters.”

He never smiled, smirked, nor sneered as he said it, and even after he’d left the room, Hermione was left feeling as though she’d entered the Twilight Zone. A place where Draco Malfoy had grown up and become a completely different person. Still cold, still an arsehole, still slightly crazy, but with layers that made him human. Stunned by it, Hermione could only sit there and stare off into the distance.

When Blaise came down the stairs an hour or so later, Hermione saw the strain on his face, and the fatigue in his eyes. Unable to talk about what she’d overheard, about what she knew had happened in Cho‘s room, Hermione simply made him a cup of tea and left him to brood as she went back to bed. And when she woke the following morning, she saw the three former Slytherins for what they were - young men, fighting a war that went against everything they had ever known.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4.

The fourth time Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger was while droning voices echoed through the air, as Death Eaters searched near where they were hiding. Most Order members had Portkeyed out safely, until a blanketing spell meant no one got in or out until it was lifted. During that time, no magic could be used, Draco whispering in Harry’s ear that it was a snatch and grab for torture and information raid, more than a kill at first sight one.

The three of them were jammed behind a wooden panel, in a shimmy hole designed comfortably for two, thus a rather tight fit for three. Draco had one hand braced above Hermione’s head, while his free arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her upright. That was ok though, because she had both arms wrapped around him to steady him in return.

She stood between his feet, the two of them jammed in sideways; pressed together while Harry stood in front of them, his wand gripped uselessly in his hand. The dark was pressing in on them, the air filled with dust as Hermione rested her forehead against the sinewy chest in front of her. She could hear the soft sounds of half breaths being taken, and she could smell the sweat and fear that tinged the air.

In front of her, she felt Draco bend his knees and slump slightly, his thighs pressing against her legs and his knees resting against the wood behind her as he lowered his head to her shoulder. She could hear the soft pants he made and the even softer groan that slipped free from his lips as he turned his head slightly and breathed in against her neck.

Hermione closed her eyes and lowered her own head to his shoulder, and prayed that they’d get out of this mess and soon. The war had been raging for a year now. Thirteen months, two weeks, four days, and a dozen or more hours if you wanted to get technical. And, in that time, Hermione had finally let go of her former feelings towards Draco Malfoy, and had moved on to working well with him.

He was still callous and cold. A bastard at the best of times. And she was still a know-it-all, a stuck-up Miss Priss, who needed a damn good shagging to knock the stick out of her arse, according to his last argument after she'd thrown a cup at his head. Nevertheless, he was safety in the dark, and Hermione licked dry lips as a high pitched scream echoed outside their hiding place, followed by a thud.

“Good for nothing bloody elf!” a deep voice cried.

The sickening sound of bones crunching had Hermione muffling a whimper, and Draco tightened his grip on her as Harry took a deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, and thought more forcibly about home. About the looks she couldn’t decipher that Draco sent her way. After Blaise had shagged Cho, Hermione had opened her eyes and seen more than she bargained for.

People were shagging left, right and bloody centre, and she didn‘t know what to make of it. Luna was shagging Seamus, Harry was shagging Ginny, and Blaise was shagging anyone who smiled at him. Ron and Lavender, after the former Gryffindor had turned up in the middle of the night. And when Hermione had seen Draco walk out of Parvati’s room early one morning, she’d blushed furiously under his slow appraisal.

Katie Bell and, surprisingly enough, after he‘d shown up dirty, bloody and in a filthy temper, Marcus Flint. Dean and Alicia Spinet. Fred and Angelina Johnson. Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones. And those were just the former students whom she had seen sneaking out of someone’s room under the cover of darkness. And the worse the war got, the more people shagged. And when she saw Blaise sneak into Cho’s room one night and remain with her, it finally seemed to make sense.

What didn’t make sense were those damn looks Draco sent her way. Slow, measured, and they made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t explain. The same as his touch didn’t always make her feel comfortable. A casual brushing of hands or a hip bumped against hers to move her out of his way. Or the way his knuckles were currently slowly moving up and down along her back.

An inch upwards, an inch downwards, followed by the flexing of his arm. It was heat, and it was touch, and it made her arch slightly and her eyes open when his breath hit her throat. His head lifted at the same time hers did, and they stared at each other in the dim light. His arm tightened around her, and when he slowly uncurled his hand, she could feel his fingertips stretch around her ribs and stop under her arm.

Lowering his head slowly, Hermione’s eyes crossed when his forehead touched hers, and she could feel the pant, pant, pant of his breath brushing her face as he breathed through his mouth. He pulled her a step closer, and Hermione bit her bottom lip to stop the squeak that wanted to escape when his fingers, such long, supple fingers, touched the side of her breast.

When his head tilted, she knew what he was going to do before he did it. And as he moved his head again, her hand shot up between them, and covered his mouth as he lowered his head slightly. She could feel his breath on her fingers, and stared up at his eyes as they glowed with unholy glee. His fingers moved again, and she bit back another sound when his fingers began that same slow journey they had taken on her back.

Up, down, and it made her sway into him, her hand slipping from his lips as he lowered his head to her shoulder again. The hand above her head moved, and Hermione groaned ever so softly when it was suddenly wedged between the wall and her bum, his fingers digging into the supple flesh and kneading firmly.

The voices outside were still talking, and Hermione tried to wiggle away from him. But wedged in the way they were, there was nowhere to go, and his silent shaking, that silent laughter, told her he knew it. And as he leaned into her, leaned against her in that tight space, Hermione closed her eyes and groaned softly.

When the warm tip of his tongue swept over the skin of her throat, Hermione jerked against him. A warning pinch on her bum had her stilling, and she turned her head towards Harry. He stood as he had before, watching and waiting, and completely oblivious to what was happening behind him. But turning her head gave Draco more skin to play with, and he attacked the skin under her ear with little nips of his teeth, and sweeping touches of his tongue.

The tip of his tongue lightly flicked the lobe of her ear, before tracing along the rim of it. She shivered once, and broke out in goose flesh when heated breath swept over her ear. She felt the scrape of teeth along her jaw and the rasp of his tongue across the scars from where he had scratched her so long ago.

Hermione closed her eyes when his hand left her bum and travelled slowly up her back, to cradle her head as he straightened up slightly. Standing there together, with his fingers touching her, and his breath washing over her, Hermione came to realise that hell did exist because she was living it. Lifting bewildered eyes, she stared up at him, and then frowned when he lowered his head again and let his lips hover over hers.

“Relax.”

It was more breath than word, and she was mortified to realise that he had been touching her to distract her all along. His eyebrows drew together when hurt flooded her features, and she turned her face away from his abruptly. Holding her breath, holding back humiliated tears, Hermione moaned in relief when the voices outside died away, and the violent shimmer of magic told them that the spell had been lifted.

They waited a few more minutes, and when Harry nodded, she all but stumbled in her haste to put space between herself and Draco. He looked at her like she’d grown another head, and after Harry had Portkeyed out, Draco grabbed her arm and turned her back to face him. Staring up at him, Hermione swallowed once, and when swallowing, swallowed her pride.

“I know that you, and most of the people back at Headquarters, think that I need a good shagging, and that anyone desperate enough, or horny enough, will one day take pity on me. But what I don’t need, is to have that pity to come from you.”

“Pity?” he asked slowly, and Hermione nodded as she tugged her Portkey out of her pocket.

“You think I pity you?” he asked again, and Hermione snorted.

“What else do you call that in there, Malfoy?” she asked, gesturing wildly towards the hole in the wall.

Draco’s eyes shadowed over as Hermione pushed her hair out of her eyes, and he took a step towards her. He stopped, however, when she held a shaking hand up and shook her head.

“I thought you’d changed, Malfoy. Moved past humiliating me for what ever reasons you could come up with. But to do… that… to relax me? That takes the cake.”

Understanding washed over his face, and as he took another step towards her, Hermione lifted wounded eyes and shook her head.

“Stay away from me, ok? Play your games with someone else, someone like Padma, who knows the rules. Because I don’t like this game, Malfoy. You see, I never know when the rules will change.”

And as he took another step towards her, she vanished from sight, leaving him with the memory of her haunted eyes and the taste of her skin still lingering on his tongue. Back at Headquarters, Hermione ignored the knowing looks Gregory and Blaise seemed to bestow on her, and headed upstairs for the remainder of the evening, stating that she had a headache and wanted to be left alone.

When she’d finally calmed down, finally relaxed enough to want to eat, she opened her door just as the one across the hall did. She didn’t understand why seeing Padma backing out of the room, and a half-dressed Draco lounging in bed hurt her so much, but it did. She must have made a sound of some sort, because they both looked up. Padma blushed, and Draco looked at her with one of those slow, measuring looks, as Hermione lifted her eyebrow mockingly and a wry look twisted her lips before she slowly shut the door.

When she didn’t appear the following morning, Draco was saved asking why by Neville. Harry looked up from a worn notebook and blinked, before answering vaguely. Hermione was gone - she’d Portkeyed out in the early hours of the morning. He wasn’t sure when she’d be back, and no, he didn’t know where - she'd volunteered to go on a mission with Fred Weasley. And when Draco swore angrily, only Gregory didn’t look surprised.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5.

The fifth time Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger was when he laid eyes on her two months later. He had seen her on the battle fields, but not in safety. Not in privacy, where he could grab her by the shoulders and shake the stupidity out of her. Not in a safe house, where he could lock the door to prevent her running from him. Where he could scream at her, and force her to face up to what had sent her running in the first place.

No, he’d seen her surrounded by death and magic, with blood staining the side of her body, leaving the shirt she wore wet and sticky as she stumbled to her knees, while the cloaked figure in black loomed above her. That being said though, the Death Eater who had used the Muggle knife on her hit the ground not a moment later, his face frozen in death behind the grotesque mask and his eyes glowing green.

She’d been hauled upright by Marcus Flint by one arm, as his free hand dived down the back of her pants. A dozen steps away, Draco faltered mid step when Marcus yanked a cloth covered Portkey out of her pocket, and closed Hermione’s hand around it. He let her go, steadied her once, and then yanked the cloth out of her hand as she began to fall again. She vanished from sight the moment Marcus tugged the cloth free, and it fluttered to the ground as Marcus turned back to the fight at hand.

When the remaining Order members returned to safety, Draco finally caught sight of Hermione as she headed stiffly towards the bathroom. Ignoring the sly looks being sent his way as he headed upstairs, Draco made a beeline for the bathroom. Ron and Harry came together at the foot of the stairs, and exchanged one long knowing look as Draco lingered outside the bathroom door. Ron tilted his head slightly as he stared at the blond, and then spoke quietly.

“Bet you a Knut that she Expulsos his arse out the door, before he can speak a word,” he murmured, and Harry chuckled quietly.

“Raise you to a Sickle that he uses Expelliarmus on her first, and if he can get close enough, that she slaps him for it like she did in third year,” he countered, and Ron pursed his lips as he considered the variables. Upstairs, Draco finally opened the door, and slipped inside.

This was their adorable if not prickly girl they were making the bet about. She was slightly unpredictable on the best of days, and Hermione could be right nasty when backed into a corner. But, that being said, Draco was as sly and as sneaky as they come - and when he was backed into a corner? He was worse than Hermione on a bad day, while suffering that mysterious business that all females seemed to suffer...

“Counter that, and raise you to a Galleon that he waits until she’s unarmed and in the shower before he makes his move,” a new voice drawled, and the two boys turned to see Blaise leaning casually against the wall.

“Why would he do that when it’s only going to piss her off?” Harry asked, and Blaise snorted.

“Please, Potter, at the heart of the matter, he is Slytherin. Self-Preservation, my friend, is our motto. She’s not going to leap out of the shower naked and demand her wand back now, is she?”

“He’s right, you know, mate,” Ron murmured, and Harry hummed softly as he looked back up the stairs again.

“How long to convince her that he‘s not doing it out of pity?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, and Blaise pursed his lips as he looked at the bathroom door.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said finally, and Harry blinked.

“Fifteen minutes?” Harry asked, and Blaise raised an eyebrow when a sudden scream echoed from up stairs.

“Fifteen minutes, and a slapped face for his efforts,” he confirmed, and Harry stuck his hand out.

“Deal.”

“Reckon she’ll believe him?” Blaise asked as the three boys moved towards the kitchen, and Ron snorted with laughter.

“Not on your life,” he drawled, and Harry chuckled as he sat down at the table for a much needed cup of tea.

***************

Draco rested his hand on the bathroom door for a moment, as he listened to the rustling of fabric. When the water started, he licked the corner of his mouth, before pushing the door open and slipping inside. Shutting the door silently, he locked it while warily keeping his eyes on the wavery image of slender lines behind the shower curtain. Draco could just make out that she had her hands braced against the wall, and her head bent as the water streamed over her head, the sound of water not quite masking the tears she was trying to stifle.

It changed things - those soft tears. It changed his approach, his plan, his need to demand, and know and make her believe. So did the fact that Hermione’s blood stained shirt lay on the floor; he stared at it for a long moment, before padding silently across the bathroom. Picking up the slender length of wood that rested on the counter top, Draco sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and twirled it between his fingers for a moment before speaking.

“Why’d he stab you?” he asked, and Hermione screamed as she stumbled in the tub.

“Get out!” she cried, and Draco raised his eyebrows.

“No,” he said calmly, and Hermione’s furious face appeared from behind the shower curtain.

“No?” she hissed, and Draco hummed slightly as he tilted his head, and twirled her wand again.

“Why’d he stab you?” he repeated, and Hermione scowled at him when she recognised her wand in his hand and disappeared behind the curtain.

“Granger, I will open that curtain,” he warned when she remained silent, and she mumbled something under her breath as her shadow sank behind the curtain.

“What?” he asked, and Hermione spoke quietly.

“He said that he wouldn’t use magic on a filthy Mudblood, that it was a waste of energy, magic, and that I didn’t deserve to die to with dignity like my fallen friends, that I deserved to die in the mud, face down, arse up, and…”

She trailed off, Draco filling in the rest of what the Death Eater had said to her easily. He remained silent as the shadow behind the curtain shifted and the scent of shampoo filled the air. And when ten minutes had slipped past, he stood up and shook out a towel.

“Come on,” he murmured, and Hermione laughed, the sound more sob than mirth.

“Why?” she whispered, and Draco reached out and yanked the curtain back.

He kept his eyes on her face as her arms flew up to shield her body, and held the towel out. He felt Hermione’s fingers brush his a moment later and turned his back as the water shut off. When he turned back to face her a minute later, she had dragged on a ratty robe he had seen Harry wear before, and was staring down at her feet. Her hair was wet and tangled, her face pale and pinched with fear and fatigue. Reaching out, he took her wrist, and led her from the bathroom over to the room he knew she slept in.

It took a lot to shake Hermione, and when she'd followed him silently and sat down on the edge of the bed without arguing, Draco bit his lip and sank down beside her. A simple spell had her hair untangled and slowly drying, and he dragged his fingers through the loose curls as she lowered her chin. It was so easy, he found, to lay back against her bed and pull her down with him. To curl her body into his, and wrap his arms around her.

They lay there silently, Hermione spooned into Draco’s body, her softer curves fitting the harder planes of his body. And when his hand drifted to the knot in the robe, she made no effort to stop him as he untied it and separated the two sides. Simple cotton knickers, and a fitted tank top, and Draco smiled slightly as he tugged the top up her ribs. It was easy to find the wound, even though the skin and muscle had been knitted back together by magic and potion already. Her body was bruised, and he traced the bruise with a light touch.

“It was Theodore Nott,” she whispered, and Draco let his knuckles brush her side slowly.

“Better him than you, Granger. Better him face down, that you with your arse in the air," he said flatly, and Hermione glanced up at him.

"Why?" she asked, and Draco snorted.

"Please, Granger - who else am I going to annoy for amusement? Who else would dare to throw a cup at my head?” he murmured, and she shook her head and closed her eyes.

"And people say that you never lost your mind. I know better - you're still bloody crazy," she whispered, and Draco chuckled softly in her ear.

"Never said I was sane, Granger, that's a common misconception. If I were sane, there is no way in hell that I would be able to pull off half the missions that we do."

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, and opened her eyes when his hand left her ribs and tilted her chin up.

"Tired of what?" he asked, and Hermione gestured helplessly.

"Of war. Of having to have all the answers. Of friends dying. I'm so tired of being scared, and waking in the middle of the night, and wondering if this was the day that we were going to lose. I'm tired of wondering if I'm going to die."

"You won't die, Granger. Not you. You and Potter and Weasley - you'll be regarded as the heroes of the war when it is finished. In years to come, the students of Hogwarts will read about the golden trio in Hogwarts; A history."

"They'll read about you too, Draco," she whispered, and he laughed softly.

"Maybe."

"What are you tired of?" she asked, and then jerked when the thud of heavy boots echoed as Draco toed them off.

He sat up, the comforting weight of blankets warming her when he lay back down behind her and covered them up. His hand was calloused on her side when it pushed back under her tank, and Hermione caught his hand in hers.

"I'm tired of misconceptions, Granger. Of miscommunication," he said finally. "Of people looking at me, and wondering when I'm going to run back to Daddy. Of facing war. I'm scared that I'm going to die, without ever knowing the truth of it all. I'm just tired."

His arm was heavy across her waist, and he stayed quiet for a long time. Hermione waited for a moment, and then she finally huffed.

“Why are you here? With me?” she whispered, and Draco remained that silent that she thought he'd drifted off to sleep while lying behind her.

“Because you saved me once,” he finally said. “Because we all have to grow up and learn right from wrong eventually. Because in a time when life is uncertain, you are the one consistency I can depend upon. You are the one person I can count on for not only a decent cuppa, but for a jab to the ribs and a hissed name when you think I’m being a prat.

“I know I can count on you to research something, so that when I go into battle, I’m fully aware of what I am facing, and what I need to do, because you said so. I know that you fight not only for Harry, but for the right to even be called a witch, and that you're frighteningly powerful. And I know it took you over a year to trust me, but once you did, I knew I had that trust for life, and that I would never do anything to betray that.”

His hand slipped out from under her tank, and settled across the base of her ribs. And when his thumb settled between her breasts, he barely moved it, just enough to bring comfort as he stroked the swell of flesh he could feel. Shifting slightly, he raised up onto his elbow, and stared down at her. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the tears on her lashes, and he lifted his hand and used his thumb to wipe them away.

“Because even though you never hesitated to use the Killing Curse on Nott today, you bleed in the dark for him now. You think that your hands are stained with blood, when you are as innocent now as you were at eleven.”

She kept her eyes closed as his breath brushed her jaw, but couldn’t contain the small sound of surprise when his mouth brushed hers. Just once - a brushing of skin on skin almost, before he lay back down and pulled her into his arms again. Traced those long fingers along her ribs, her side, and the tops of her thighs as he pushed his face into her hair and breathed in deeply.

When she woke up the following the morning, he was still there. Holding her, his hand under her top and cupping her breast, and the morning erection he sported poking into the small of her back. And in her sleep addled mind, she wondered why it felt right to be there with him, in a way it had never felt right with Ron or Harry. The boys were safety in the night - Draco was heat and sensuality. For the life of her, Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to pull away.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6.

The sixth time that Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger, he was riding on a cocktail of fear, adrenalin, and grief. Lack of sleep meant everyone had short tempers. Lack of sleep because Hermione had been snatched in the midst of a surprise raid, and that meant that fear over rode the issue of no sleep, and put everyone on high alert. Ron was beside himself with fear, while Harry had retreated into himself, letting a darker side of his nature take him over. While the Order planned and muttered over tea, Harry slipped away and sought Draco out.

“I’ve had enough,” Harry murmured in the darkness of Hermione’s room. He sat the edge of the bed, and smiled faintly when he caught the lingering scent of her shampoo on the pillows. Looking up at the small gathering of young men before him, Harry smiled darkly.

“I’ve had enough of Voldemort taking what’s mine. Of taking the people I love. It’s time to turn the tables…to take the fight to them. Who’s with me?”

And when Harry, Ron, Draco, Blaise and Marcus Flint disappeared in the middle of the night, chaos erupted at Grimmauld Place. While the Aurors flapped their hands and shouted over the top of one another, Molly silently held her cup of tea, and prayed that her boys would return to her in one piece.   
That they would find Hermione, and bring her home safely. It was no use trying to believe that Hermione would not have been harmed - the dreams of them all making it through these days unscathed had shattered a year ago after Cho was raped, leaving a cold sense of reality in its place.

They found Hermione easily enough, but getting to her proved more difficult. The wards at Malfoy Manor still recognised Draco, but the home he had once loved was overrun with lower-level Death Eaters and werewolves. Nevertheless, anger, fear, loyalty and even love can provide strength in strange ways, and when the fighting stopped, when the shouting died away, those who had stood between the young men and Hermione lay dead.

Draco bolted down the stairs towards the hidden rooms, while Harry and Ron headed towards Lucius’ study to search for any new information. Marcus and Blaise headed down into the dungeons to see if Hermione were hidden below the flooring. Having been in the midst of the war for two years now, nothing much shocked them anymore. They’d seen too much, experienced too much, yet when they lit the dungeons with the tips of their wands, what they saw silenced them and stole any remaining jubilance in the face of their victory.

Blaise swayed once and whimpered, a long, drawn out mournful sound, as Marcus raised his wand and blew the door to the cage clean off its hinges. In the end it was Marcus who approached Hermione, while slowly drawing off the shirt he wore. He crouched down slowly beside her, his voice gruff as he carefully touched the badly beaten face of the girl who lay naked on the floor in a pool of blood. Even though she was chained down, she still fought violently against him as his fingers feathered over the gashes in the corners of her mouth.

The sounds that were torn out of her mouth were guttural, and when Marcus unlocked the metal collar from around her throat and removed the blood stained wadding from between her lips, she wrenched to the side and vomited. Slipping his arm under her neck, he slowly drew away the cloth that had blinded her, Hermione blinking up at him in fear as he slowly sat her up. And when he drew his shirt around her naked body, Hermione began to shake.

Biting his lower lip, Marcus pressed her battered face into the dip of his shoulder. Hermione was still for a moment before she choked, and then screamed: a long, drawn out sound of pain, fear, hope and anguish, her fingers fisting against his chest as Marcus hushed her, while Blaise crouched down beside them and finished unlocking the remaining shackles that held her prisoner. And when Marcus lifted her into his arms, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

They stood together on the impressive lawns of Malfoy Manor, their quarry held safely in firm arms as Draco, Ron and Harry stood side-by-side. There was no surprise when Draco raised his wand, his shouted spell causing the Fiendfyre curse to take the form of a raging dragon. The flames swept through the Manor within a matter of moments, consuming everything it touched and leaving nothing in its wake. Backlit by the flames he had created, Draco looked at Harry, and nodded once, before he turned away as his childhood home burned to the tainted ground upon which it had once stood.

When Blaise and Marcus appeared in the dimly lit hall of Order headquarters, Marcus silently handed Hermione’s limp body over to the healers, as Molly plucked at his arm. Blaise murmured something softly to Marcus and Disapparated again, while Marcus summoned a new shirt. Staring up at the surly man before her, Molly could only hold her breath as Marcus slipped into his shirt, before he looked down at her and shook his head.

“I can’t stay, Mrs. Weasley. Draco’s gone after Lucius.”

“Why?” Molly wheezed, and Marcus smirked sardonically.

“Hermione was at Malfoy Manor. Draco, Harry and Ron will go after the man who went after Hermione.”

And when the five young men reappeared three days later, Draco waved away the concerned looks he was faced with, and headed silently up the stairs for a much needed shower. After being reassured of Hermione’s well being, the Order learned from hushed whispers that Draco had tracked his father to Spinner's End, where a duel had occurred.

“We saw the line he walks, Mum,” Ron whispered. “Not the Malfoy we knew, but the Draco we trust. Draco went mental when we found Lucius. He was hiding with Wormtail, Yaxley, and Dolohov. While we went after the others, Draco went after Lucius - it was short, and it was brutal. Lucius was unarmed - Draco snapped his wand in two, and left him defenceless."

Ron looked down at his hands and shrugged slightly, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

“He used the Cruciatus on Lucius… seven times. And in between curses, Lucius begged him to remember his loyalty. To remember his blood lines. Draco snapped over that. He kicked the shite out of him, Mum, before he stood back and… the look on his face. Lucius begged Draco to spare him, and Draco asked him if Cho had begged. If Hermione had begged. That’s when Lucius knew why we were there.

“He told Draco that he was a blood traitor, and the worst kind at that. He was betraying his pure blood, to roll in the dirt with the type of filth, on which the Death Eaters used to practice their curses. He asked him what it was like to sink into that dirt, to defile his name and his family with a Mud-blood, and Draco just laughed. He told Lucius that if Hermione was dirty, then he revelled in her type of filth. Lucius looked as if he was going to pop an artery…and…Draco just… smiled. And then he killed him.”

Looking up at the soft murmurs, a fiercely predatory look crossed Ron’s face.

“I dare any man or woman in this room to tell me he did the wrong thing. Because if it had been me in that position? I would have done the same thing.”

Shoving back from the table, Ron walked away, and headed up the stairs to find Lavender, where he knew he’d find a brief respite from war within her arms.

*********************

Draco rested his head against the closed door that separated him from Hermione and closed his eyes. Having showered, he had headed for bed, yet he had been unable to walk passed Hermione's door. He didn't know what lay beyond her door - anger, tears, pain or repercussions. Running his fingers over her door slowly, he took a deep breath. He was bone deep-tired, yet every time he closed his eyes, he saw her as she had been - naked, covered in blood, and barely conscious as she was cradled in Marcus' arms.

The door opening silently as he pushed against it with his fingertips, and he lifted his head slowly. As his eyes adjusted to the dim candle light within, he saw that Hermione was lying on her side and that her eyes were open. They stared at each other for a long moment, with a threshold separating them, until Hermione managed a smile through trembling lips and patted the bed beside her.

Draco took a deep breath and stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind him as Hermione sat up slowly. In the dim light, Draco could see the faint bruising that stained her skin as she stared up at him, but it was nothing in comparison to what she had looked like three days ago. Standing where he was, rocking back and forth slightly with fatigue, Draco watched through hooded eyes as Hermione pleated the blanket with her fingers.

“Draco?” she whispered when the silence became unbearable, and he lowered his eyes.

“Did he?” was all he said, and Hermione finally caught on when he refused to come any closer to her.

“No. No… They were waiting for Voldemort to decide what to do with me. Besides, ” she muttered as she lowered her eyes, “why rape me, a filthy animal, when can they can practice spells on me instead? Why rape me, when Voldemort can hold a public trial, and offer me up as spoils of war? It didn't stop them from threatening me, though. From touching me."

Twisting her fingers together, Hermione managed a small smile. Draco closed his eyes and lowered his chin, pale, damp hair falling across his eyes as he breathed out slowly.

"Draco?"

He looked at her through dark eyelashes silently, and Hermione twisted her fingers and bit her lip.

"Did you have sex with Padma that night?"

She didn't need to clarify what night she meant. The silence remained between them, stretching out and becoming brittle as they stared at each other. And when he finally moved, it was to shake his head slowly. Twice to the left, twice to the right, and Hermione's face twisted slightly as she looked away.

"Is that why you left?" he asked when it was her turn to remain silent, and Hermione shrugged slightly as she finally turned her head and returned his gaze.

"Would you have ever come to me if you'd known differently?" he asked in a low voice, and Hermione blushed and lowered her eyes.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Hermione pushed her hair back over her head as she let out an unsteady breath, and when she squared her shoulders, he saw her wrap her courage around herself like silk as she returned his gaze evenly and answered the unasked.

"Yes."

His breath rushed out in a whoosh of air, and he slowly dropped the stained shirt he carried and let it fall to the floor.

“This will change everything, Draco,” Hermione whispered, and he looked up while undoing his belt.

He laughed softly, the sound slightly bitter as he shoved his pants down, and crossed the room towards her.

“It’s already changed, Granger. It changed two years ago. I was just waiting for you to realise it,” he muttered as he tugged the blankets back and slipped into bed beside her.

She never said anything as he pulled her across the bed and into his arms, but her eyes spoke volumes as she stared up at him.

“When are you going to realise that it isn’t pity that brings me here, Granger?” he muttered, and lowered his head to hers.

He wasn’t gentle when he kissed her; no fluttering lashes and feathering touches of his lips against hers. He was demanding, kissing her ruthlessly as he crushed her mouth under his. He mapped out her mouth with his tongue, and ran his fingertips over her face and throat as she touched his skin in return. Kissed her over and over, time and time again, while the stubble that covered his jaw scraped her skin.

And when he knelt up, his hands tugging at her top, Hermione sat up and lifted her arms as he lifted it up and off, baring her to his gaze. He never said anything as she lowered her eyes. Never said anything as he tugged her hands away from her chest, where she had crossed them. But he did groan softly when he cupped her breast in his hand, and shifted back over her, his weight pushing hers back into the bed as he went back to kissing her.

When his hand slid down over her hip, and under her knickers, he lifted his head and stared down at her, eyes hooded and burning silver in the dim light as he kneaded the soft skin of her bum. And when she took a deep breath and lifted her hips, he tugged those plain white knickers down and away, before he rolled between her legs, and rocked his groin against hers, much as he had done in the kitchen so long ago.

And when the beating of hearts was strong, when the heat had them kicking back blankets, Hermione closed her eyes and bit her lip when he kicked his shorts off and rolled back between her thighs. Her fear was unrealised, however, when he covered her mouth with his, and reached between them, his fingers sliding over slick flesh easily, slipping deep inside her and causing small shock waves to dance through her body.

She winced once at the slight sting she felt as he withdrew his fingers and pressed into her, and the deeper ache that came from having muscles and tissue stretch in a way that they hadn’t before. And when he stayed still, she looked up at him and saw that his lips were pressed together in a tight line as he waited for her to move under him. So she did, and that's when she saw the real Draco Malfoy, the one, he couldn't hide behind icy walls.

It was heat and strength and warmth, and when it was over, when he lay with his face pressed into her throat as his body shook with the force of it all, she held him as lust turned to grief, and he shook for an entirely different reason. When she woke the following morning, Hermione felt the wet rasp of his tongue between her shoulder blades, and looked over her shoulder sleepily as his warm weight covered her and crushed her into the mattress.

He smiled slightly as he looked down at her, eyes heavy, hair tousled from both sleep and her hands, and a sound of satisfaction escaping his lips as he reached between them, and pushed himself in her body once more. It was slow, it was lazy, and the long, drawn out groan that escaped his lips and echoed in her ear as he lost himself in her, would stay with her for the rest of her life.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7.

The seventh time Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger occurred exactly two months, nine days, twelve hours, and thirty eight minutes after Voldemort fell. The losses on both sides were high, and those who lived celebrated while grieving. Hermione Granger’s grief went deep - so deep that she never thought she would escape it. Harry was still in the hospital, healing and sleeping, while his grief tore him to pieces. With the fighting done, he was unsure of where his place in the wizarding world was anymore. He needed time and love, both of which he was receiving from those who knew him best.

Ron had yet to stray far from Harry’s side. While the three of them were best friends, it was Ron who was closest to Harry now. Ron, who Harry turned to in the night, while guilt and grief wore him down and made him question every action and word he had uttered over the last nine years since starting out at Hogwarts. Ron, who reassured the Boy who Triumphed. The boy he simply called Harry. And in that isolated bubble of grief, Hermione let herself fade into the background. Because while Harry and Ron lived, it was the other names that had shattered her heart.

Seamus Finnegan. Hannah Abbott. Alicia Spinnet. Alastor ‘Mad eye’ Moody. Severus Snape. Minerva McGonagall. Dean Thomas. Colin Creevey. Viktor Krum. All dead. And Hermione bore each death as a personal wound, a gash that bled and bled and bled. Each person had meant something to her - meant more to her than just a name in the papers. The deaths were hard enough to bear - the list was continuous. Worse, were those who were missing.

Katie Bell was missing - presumed dead. Marcus Flint was missing - presumed dead. Fred Weasley was missing - presumed dead. Padma Patil was missing - presumed dead. Oliver Wood was missing - presumed dead. Luna Lovegood was missing - presumed dead. Neville Longbottom was missing - presumed dead. And Draco Malfoy was missing - presumed dead. Missing - no trace of. No bodies. Only the broken fragments of wands that had been found on the battle field after the final blow to Voldemort‘s reign of terror.

Hermione lay in the bed she had shared with Draco for the last six months, and squeezed the pillow tightly as she desperately tried to muffle the sounds of her tears. The scent of him was fading from the linen, and she breathed in as deeply as she could. She could hear the faint sounds of Molly and Tonks talking with Remus. They were worried about her - she knew that. Even so, with the war over, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d given everything she had within her and then some, and she had nothing left to give. She had her grief, and it was hers alone.

She wondered briefly as she lay in the dark, if she was losing her mind as Draco had so long ago. She could still hear his voice, whispering in her mind and murmuring into the curve of her throat. Could still recall what it felt like to be crushed under him, over him, around him as his eyes bore into hers while he caused her body to shatter time and time again with his. Could still see the way his eyes crinkled with amusement, as she blushed and stammered the morning after their first night together, after Harry had told Draco he’d better take care of her, or he’d introduce him to a completely new level of pain.

The vague pain in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in a few days, that she hadn’t really left her bed for that length of time, either. Dragging herself slowly out of bed, she let her hand trail along the wall for support as she made her way slowly into the bathroom. Her head felt full of cotton wool, and wobbly on her shoulders, and she pressed her fingers against her temple in a vain attempt to stop her world spinning as she reached for the taps to turn the water on.

Climbing carefully into the tub, Hermione sat down as steaming water trickled down over lank hair and slumped shoulders. Bleary eyes were drawn to the slight indentation in the wall near the sink, and a tired smile crossed her face in memory of how that indentation had happened. Just because she and Draco had become lovers didn’t mean that it was all sunshine and roses. They still fought, they still snarled, and she still threw things at him when she became lost for words in fury.

That particular indentation in the wall had occurred after a blistering fight, and she had stormed away from him. However, Draco being Draco, he had followed her, and the fight had continued into the bathroom, where she had gone toe-to-toe with him. Toe-to-toe, until he had grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall. Anger and frustration at each other had resulted in torn clothes, and his hands pressing hers above her head in a show of strength and domination, his breath ragged in her ear as his anger manifested in a scorching round of sex.

Forced up onto the tips of her toes, his eyes had burned into hers. His mouth had been hard against hers, and his fingers had dug into her hips after he’d let her hands go and had abruptly spun her around and pushed her back against the wall. With his hands on her hips, he had broken down her walls the only way he knew how. Domination, softened by the moist, open mouthed kisses he had trailed along her throat and spine, and the calloused hands that slipped around her hips to cradle the soft skin of her tummy as he relaxed the speed of his hips, and turned fury into languid movements.

When she had finally shaken and then broken under those slow movements, he had pulled out of her, and led her to their room, where he continued to break down her walls. Not with words - not in that moment. It was in lacing their fingers together as she lay under him, her chest pressed his, and him laying over her. The way he would stop moving completely and kiss her, as if he had all the time in the world, even as he throbbed solidly within her.

The way he had gathered her close and struggled to his knees, putting them face to face. Sweat beaded on their skin, and caused strands of hair to stick to flushed skin as he shifted under her so that she wrapped her legs around his back. Sitting between his spread legs, he lifted and lowered her slowly, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and his eyes mere slits through which she caught flashes of silver. The muscles in his shoulders bunching under her hands, he’d stretched up to kiss her, lips trembling against hers as he lost himself within her.

And in that moment, caught in those silver eyes, Hermione gave to him what she’d never given to anyone before - her heart. Even with the final confrontation looming, they had spent the remainder of the night touching and taking from one another. Wrenching groans from hoarse throats, and tasting the flavour of love discovered admidst a time of blood and death. And as dawn broke across the sky, they had faced Voldemort and his followers. And Hermione had not seen Draco since a stream of magic had separated them.

The sound of the bathroom door opening caused her to lift her eyes slowly, and fresh tears to spill as Ron’s face contorted with grief at the sight of her. And when he moved into the bathroom, and Harry limped through the door after him, Hermione Jean Granger finally broke. In an echo from so long ago, Harry climbed fully clothed into the tub, and gathered her close as she sobbed out fear and grief and the bitterest of anguish. And when she felt strong hands begin to wash her hair, she knew that Ron had joined them in the bath too.

Safe in the arms of the boys she had loved for so long, Hermione stopped fighting and simply let go. Tears continued to spill from blank eyes, as sure hands wrung the shampoo from her hair, and then moved to wash her skin. In the deepest recess of her mind, Hermione knew that she should be blushing and crossing her arms, but it was Harry and Ron - they had known her, since she had been a child, and breasts hadn’t been the reason why they had become friends.

Washed clean, she was lifted from the tub and dried. Her hair was brushed and pulled into a messy ponytail as Ron muttered that he wasn’t a hairdresser, and how the hell did she manage her hair everyday? She was dressed and held close on Harry’s lap, as Ron lifted spoonful after spoonful of soup to her lips as Hermione stared beyond him, her movements mechanical as she ate.

She could hear Harry murmuring in her ear, but the words simply didn’t register. The night turned to day turned to night turned to day, and Harry and Ron watched over her. Watched as she lay silently, her eyes vacant, and her heart breaking as she stared into a world they couldn’t see. And when a newly married Marcus and Katie Flint stumbled into the house, they carried tales with them of being flung violently across the world after a newly formed Port-key spell had exploded amidst them. They’d woken up in Central Australia - wandless and with no money or means to get home.

Neville arrived three days later from China, telling the same tale. And slowly, slowly, the missing began to arrive. Luna and Padma arrived a week later, both sick from having been dumped in the French Alps in the middle of a snow storm. Padma didn’t know what made her angrier - being dumped in the snow, or breaking each and every one of her nails getting out of there. And when Oliver arrived from Africa, he arrived with a healthy respect for lions and not being eaten.

And when Fred Weasley arrived from North Korea, a shadow slipped up the stairs as tears and celebrations flowed in the kitchen below. Hermione Jean Granger woke slowly, to the feeling of a calloused fingertip stroking the skin between her eyebrows. Blank eyes stared at the shadowy form who lay beside her, and she blinked slowly as a calloused hand cupped her jaw and chapped lips pressed against her own.

“Granger... Hermione…”

Hermione continued to blink slowly as her eyes travelled over tousled blond hair, and tired silver eyes. Over the newly healed scar that ran from temple to jaw. And she simply closed her eyes as she bent her head. Lost between dreams and reality, she did as she did every night, and rested her head against the chest of the phantom who shared her bed. Felt his arms close around her, and wished with everything she had that he would still be there when she woke in the morning, that today was the day she didn’t wake alone.

Those same arms tightened as they always did, as she muffled her tears and tried to regain her footing. They tightened as she whispered how scared she was, how lost she was. Scarred hands smoothed her hair back as she confessed her fear and her love in the dark. Her fear for her sanity, and her love for a man she didn’t know lived. Hands that soothed, arms that tightened, and lips that scattered warm kisses across hers as she wept. A low voice that whispered reassurance in her ear.

When dawn broke, when Hermione opened her eyes, she felt them fill as Draco stared back at her from where he lay beside her. Arms still locked around her, heart beating solidly under her ear, and the taste of love answered and grief lessened on his lips when he lifted up onto his elbow and bent his head to kiss her. And when Harry and Ron pushed open her door, they found her crying as Draco held her, his hands tangled in her hair, as she shook within his arms.

Ron simply slumped against the door, as Harry leaned against him, relief washing over them as they watched Draco rub his cheek over Hermione’s as she gradually stopped crying and fell silent in healing sleep. Looking up, locking eyes with the men who had been his enemies as a boy, but were his family as a man, Draco sneered once, and glared at Ron.

“What the fuck did you do to her hair, Weasley? It‘s going to take me a lifetime to untangle it.”

“A lifetime?” Harry asked quietly, and Draco shrugged.

“Who else is going to keep her in line?” he asked, and Harry blinked slowly as understanding washed over him.

“I, personally, couldn’t think of anyone better for it,” he murmured, and Harry saw the small smile that crossed Draco’s face.

“Me either - but I’m not going to be the one who tells Molly.”

Ron blinked, and then snorted as Draco smirked, before quiet laughter broke out. Moving into the room with Ron, Harry smiled as he shut the door to maintain privacy. And as he shut the door, he shut the door on his past. On Draco’s past. And moved into the future they had all fought for. Together.

~Fin.~


End file.
